Cages
by kasviel
Summary: Light M/M slash. Chilton's Point of View. The administrator overplays his hand by using Will Graham's captivity against Hannibal. Contains spanking.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

They were fascinating to watch, the two of them. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a portrait of austerity, sharp and elegant as a fine blade. He was immaculately dressed and poised as ever, his European urbanity giving him the impression of being someone out of an older world: a long-past time that was at once more beautiful and more brutal than modern man could imagine. I could almost believe that he held the secrets of such a world behind those unfathomable blue eyes.

Will Graham was also controlled, but there were still traces of boyish vulnerability in his shattered gaze. The pain always rippled just beneath the surface with him, threatening to flood out in a wave of- What? Violence? Misery? He had not only gazed into an abyss and seen it gaze back, but _immersed _himself in the gulfs of madness over and over again. How many abysses stared out from those eyes? At the very bottom of those depths, who was the real Will Graham? A murderer? A suicide? Did _he_ even know?

I turned the volume of the live security feed up, and readjusted my headphones. It had been a stroke of brilliance to wire the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane with the highest grade of security equipment. Not all the recordings bore fruit, but certain patients were fascinating to behold. It reminded me somewhat of the trips to the zoo I loved to take with my father as a boy. My father thought monkeys were wild enough, and my mother would inevitably fuss over the lemurs and smaller creatures; I, however, only had eyes for the large predators. There was something invigorating about facing death from the outside of its bounds. A cage held all that natural power at bay, cleverness taming strength. It was the definition of human superiority, I thought, and a marvelous thing to behold.

The thrill of having superiority over mere animals waned as boyhood did. School was … difficult, sometimes. I realized in those hormone-fueled moments of despair that true superiority came with the ability to tame the human animal. I was never made to be a commander of men, nor yet a primitive ape who uses physical strength to impress. I never wished for genius: so much knowledge shoved into a brain that it leaves no room for finesse or cunning. I was fortunate enough to be born balanced in nature, and balanced in mind. I am clever.

As I grew older, I became clever enough to begin to realize what my strengths were and how to use them. Even the strongest human mind has its cracks, openings through which to crawl into. With my influence in the minds of the strong, I have been able to use many of those society deems so much more worthy than I to my advantages. The weaker the mind, the stronger my manipulation.

That may sound cruel, but it is certainly for the good of others, as well as myself. I feel sympathy for those whose minds I can so easily invade. I have sympathy for the sad faults of humanity, that is what drove me to strive to understand them through psychiatry. I may go outside the lines acceptable to today's overly sensitive society, but I _do _help my patients. I keep them safe from society, from themselves, and I keep civilized society safe from them.

Even now, even after I was … indescribably violated … by Abel Gideon. Even now, I do strive to help. I must. It is what keeps me above them. It is what keeps me outside the cages.

I touched the screen, as if I could reach into Will Graham's mind from where I sat. Then, my eyes were inevitably drawn back to Hannibal Lecter. What had gone on between these two men? What labyrinthine road had led them here? I had theories, of course, many of them … but only those two knew the truth. There was a strange link between them, a similarity that overrode all their differences. Being on the outside of their grand truth, even after Will was put under my care, was galling. To meet one mind beyond my comprehension was bad enough, but two! Yet I failed to grasp the tendrils of their shared madness. There they both were, within my walls, within my reach, but I still could not _touch _their minds!

"_I wish you would let me help you, Will," _Hannibal said.

"_The way you 'helped' me before?" _Will asked Hannibal. The bitterness in his voice surprised me. I had never heard Will Graham speak in true anger before, let alone this tone dripping with hatred. _"Why don't we talk about that, Dr. Lecter?"_

I watched Hannibal Lecter closely, but he betrayed nothing. Even when he was right in front of me, I could never discern the workings of his mind. The doctor was an inexplicable blend of polite, affable openness and aloof reserve. Will Graham was a brilliant psychopath and he had fooled me, but Hannibal Lecter did nothing but perplex me. I could not even define his falseness.

I clenched my fist, suppressing the urge to hit the screen. They were arrogant, those two: enmeshed in their perversely elitist obsession with one another. I was reduced to being a fly on the wall- in my _own _hospital! The hospital I had paid for in _blood_!

Yes, I had paid for it in blood and more. My hand swept down to my stomach, where beneath my clothing and bandages a hideous gash split my flesh. It was an awfully gauche habit, but being in the privacy of my office, I did not fight the impulse. I fancied that I could feel the stitches thread by thread, holding the halves of my body close as if I were a mere piece of butchered meat. A shudder ran through me, infuriatingly uncontrollable. I clenched my hands into fists to keep them from shaking, but the waves of darkness rolled through me regardless.

Hannibal said, _"Will, I am sorry I failed you-"_

"_Failed in what way?"_ Will interrupted. _"Failed to make me the perfect monster? Failed to keep me as your pet friend? How did you fail me, exactly, Hannibal?"_

I peered closer at the screen. "Yes, how _did _you fail him?" I murmured to distract myself from my more personal pondering. "What did you do to him, Dr. Lecter?"

"_I failed to keep the darkness from permeating your mind," _Hannibal said. _"I let you lose yourself, and I … lost you."_

"_Do you really expect anyone to believe that _you _missed the signs?" _Will asked. He looked directly at the camera, giving me a start. _"Do you believe it, Dr. Chilton? That Hannibal Lecter actually didn't notice that I was becoming this monster he claims me to be?"_

Pure, unfiltered rage surged through me. To my chagrin, Hannibal looked at the camera, and it felt as if those cold ice-hued eyes were looking directly into my eyes. The look burned, and I almost moved back from the screen. Ridiculous! Why did the man have such an effect on me?

"_I take it our unfortunate administrator is back?" _Hannibal inquired of Will.

"_He is. Most of him, anyway."_

Disgusted, I tore off the headphones. They were mocking me? I was barely out of the hospital, and they were making light of my attack? I told myself that Will was a sociopath, incapable of empathy, it was what made him a monster- and I did not care. In that instant, I could have murdered him with my bare hands.

I kept an eye on the footage, but left the headphones off. I could always listen to the recording back later. Hannibal did not stay with Will much longer after that, anyway. He turned and glided out of the camera's view before long. And good riddance, I thought. Intrigued by the man as I was, he irked me to no end. I could not abide an impenetrable mind.

Will Graham sat on his cot. His face lost all trace of emotion, and he stared into nothing. I wondered where his mind went when he was in that state. What did he see? His victims? Did they torment or pleasure him with the memories of their deaths?

I put the headphones back on, but it was silent. I watched Will, trying to will him to speak. I wished he would react, but his control was impeccable. It was quite a change from the anxious, fragile man I had met a year ago. He had been a hateful little thing then, but nowhere near this level of sophisticated evil.

There was a knock on my door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I had no time to remove the headphones and close the laptop before Hannibal Lecter himself walked in. There was nothing to be ashamed of in my own hospital, I was perfectly justified in my surveillance, and yet I felt oddly caught.

Hannibal shut the door behind himself. "Have I ever told you that I find your invasion of privacy exceedingly naughty, Dr. Chilton?"

The patronization nearly made me lose my temper completely, but I steadied myself. I removed the headphones and shut the computer. My face felt warm suddenly, and I loosened my tie.

"It is my right to be informed as to the goings-on in my hospital," I reminded Hannibal. With effort and the help of my cane, I rose to my feet. "I believe you can understand why that is more important to me now more than ever."

"Doubtless," Hannibal said, though I doubted the sincerity of this flippant agreement. His eyes swept over me, from his admittedly greater height. "I must say that I am surprised to see you back at work so soon. How are you feeling?"

The stitches were grating, and I was so sore that it was difficult to stand. There was concern on Hannibal's face, and despite my prior resentment, I was grateful to have his ear. Pity was despicable, but sympathy could be a balm- from a worthy person, of course.

"Not very well," I confessed. To my relief, Hannibal took my arm and helped me over to my desk. I promptly sat on its surface, exhaling slowly. "Honestly, I couldn't stand another moment in bed. I would hate to say I _missed_ this place, but … Well, I needed to come back. There is something comforting about it. Running this place, I mean. Order from chaos."

Hannibal gave me an odd look that I could not decipher. "You know that it is futile. Oh. You're bleeding."

"I- What?" With a feeling of dread, I looked down. Blood was spreading through the fibers of my crisp blue shirt, ruining it, spreading like a disease. I had seen so much of my own blood by now that I should have been desensitized, but I was still somewhat raw. "Oh God! Oh Jesus fuck!"

"No need for profanity," Hannibal said, patronizing again. Still, he put a hand on my shoulder to quell my panic. "I'll see to your stitches."

I sat very still, trying not to move lest the stitches come entirely undone. Condescending or not, Hannibal's cool self-assurance was a comfort. He asked where the First Aid kit was, and I told him. He promptly fetched it, and sterilized his hands with one of the wet wipes inside. He set the kit on the desk beside me, laying out several items as a surgeon lays out instruments.

"Oh, that's right," I recalled, watching his sure, strong hands. "You were a medical doctor."

Hannibal smiled reassuringly at me. He straightened me by the shoulders, and began to unbutton my shirt. His fine, perfectly-coiffed blond hair brushed near my face as he bowed over me, so fair that it was nearly silver. His scent filled my nose: a complex, intoxicatingly crisp blend of expensive aftershave and a sharp, deep cologne that I could not identify. He smelled exactly as he looked: chic, elite, with a layer of warmth thinly masking an underlying coldness.

It may have been the loss of blood, but I was beginning to feel light-headed. The absurd desire to run my hands through that silky blond hair struck me with such clarity that for a moment I worried that I had. I glanced down at Lecter, but he was now removing my bandages. Knowing that the fantasy was only in my mind, I let it in, toyed with it.

Yes, I could feel his silken hair between my fingers. I would lift his head to mine, and face his enigmatic eyes without reservation. Then, our lips would meet, and I would taste that mouth: thin-lipped but wide, like a shark's, and so finely formed. How would he taste?

Hannibal had my shirt open and my bandages off. His fingertips touched around my stitches, and I shivered. His skin was cold, almost unnaturally so, but it was smooth. I watched him, trying to soak in the touch through my pain. They were a surgeon's hands, but also as strong and toughened as a working man's. How could he be so cold?

"Did I hurt you, Frederick?"

"No," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "No, it's … fine."

In truth, I had been attracted to Hannibal Lecter since the day we met. He has never respected me, I knew that, and I will admit to harboring a bit of professional jealousy of his renown and insight. I despise the hold he has on Will Graham, and vice versa. The man told me not to tempt him to serve my tongue up, for God's sake, calling it, in his words, 'feisty'.

Then again, I can be feisty, can't I?

I believe I trouble Hannibal Lecter, a feat I'm certain not any man or woman can accomplish. He and Will Graham share God knows what, Jack Crawford counts Lecter as a close friend, but only I understand his darker nature. We share an appreciation for unorthodox methods of psychiatric treatment, and a singular viewpoint of our craft. He does not deign to admit it, yet, but we are alike. I have always thought we might make a very formidable match, personally and professionally.

Not to be so base about it, but Hannibal was also an exceptionally sensual man. I had never seen him out of clothes, but the lines beneath that suit promised graceful power. His face was beautiful, exotically sculpted as an animal or lizard's would be. Despite the hard edges and bold planes of his structure, there was a voluptuous hunger about him. Those lips tasted life with a discernment beyond pedestrian pseudo-appreciation, as was evident from his luxurious dinners and taste in spirits and wine. To be tasted by such lips, accepted, appreciated and savored as his carefully crafted cuisine would be an oddly carnal thrill. To be caressed by those surgeon's hands and molded into his body …

A twinge of pain made me cry out. Before I could stop myself, I reached out, and grasped Hannibal's shoulder. He felt as hard as stone, and so I allowed myself to cling to him for support. Hannibal only continued working steadily, as if he did not even notice my touch.

I could no longer stand the fantasies cascading through my mind. Impossibly, the pain and intimacy of Hannibal's work were mingling into a symphony of desire. I searched for conversation, and fortunately found the last threads of our previous one.

"What did you mean by 'futile'? What is futile?"

"Creating order from chaos," Hannibal replied, not looking up. "The universe is not structured. Whatever we see as order is an illusion, false patterns we make up to give meaning where there is none."

"That is a rather hopeless attitude to take."

"It is neither an attitude nor an opinion, merely the truth," Hannibal informed me, unbelievably certain.

"Then why do you bother?" I asked. I was not offended by his viewpoint, merely curious. "With therapy? Trying to help people?"

Hannibal met my eyes then. For just a second, I saw such a look of cold condescension that my blood ran cold. It was gone like the flicker of a dying fire, and I wondered if I had misread him. Hannibal changed from angle to angle, like a constantly revolving kaleidoscope mosaic.

"I like to study the chaos," Hannibal told me. "I do not fear it. Quite the opposite: I find it beautiful. I respect it. But I would never be so arrogant as to believe that I can control it, let alone set it to order."

"_You _think _I'm _arrogant?" I exclaimed. "That's a laugh!"

Hannibal had finished repairing the stitches. He stood and retrieved bandages from the First Aid kit. "What do you mean by that, Frederick?"

The blood loss must have affected my mind, and my tongue (my feisty tongue, according to Hannibal) was loosened. It was petty and jealous, but the bitterness I had felt while watching Hannibal and Will converse boiled to the surface.

"I know what you think of me," I told him. To my relief, my voice was steady and matter-of-fact. "You and Will, the two of you look down on me. You seem to believe that you are operating on a higher playing field than the rest of us. I suppose that's what made Will so destructively obsessed with you."

Hannibal was unwinding a bandage slowly. "You think it is my fault?"

"Whether intentional or not, you did foster that obsession," I pointed out. "Or am I wrong to think that your relationship with Will Graham was less than—or more than—professional?"

Hannibal moved in a swift, feline motion. He was very close, leaning over me, and our profiles nearly touched. It was close enough to kiss, I noted, and a flutter of anticipation beat its wings up and down my tortured insides.

"You're not wrong," Hannibal said softly. He taped a bandage over the incision stitches, and then began to wrap one around my torso, holding my shirt up. "Are you jealous?"

"What?" I exclaimed, the question cutting through my pretense of disinterest. I cleared my throat, though my cheeks were warm again. "No."

Hannibal smiled. "Yes you are," he said, his voice incongruously gentle. "You are a jealous and spiteful little man that must collect interesting people to make up for the fact that you are wholly ordinary."

The burst of truth assaulted my ears like the crack of a whip. So, Hannibal was finally telling me what he thought of me? The politeness was gone from his demeanor, and he was looking at me as if I were an insect. Anger coiled itself around my desires, hardening all my frustration into a stone I could feel in the pit of my stomach. I clutched Hannibal's arm by the wrist when he reached to fasten a bandage.

"Don't give me your analyses," I said angrily. "I am _not _Will Graham."

"No," Hannibal said regretfully. "You're not."

I opened my mouth in anticipation of a retort, but my mind could not find one. I swallowed down the tightness in my throat, unable to speak. Hannibal tugged his wrist from my hand as easily as one pulling wings off a butterfly, and continued bandaging me.

"I am not jealous of Will Graham," I told Hannibal. My words sounded sullen, but I was too furious to care. "Why would I be? He sits in _my _cell, under _my _care … at _my_ mercy."

"And yet he has what you never will."

"Ah, yes, all my shortcomings are Will Graham's strengths," I said cynically. "I'll never have- what? The genius insight that drove him mad? That finely honed sensitivity to the inner workings of the psychotic mind? His sympathy for the devil?"

Hannibal lifted his face, done bandaging, and my breath caught in my throat. His breath grazed my face, cool and fresh. A finger touched the corner of my mouth, and his lips were less than an inch from mine. I wanted to push him away, defy the weakness of my attraction, but I could not move. Those eyes were as hypnotic as a snake's. I had never felt so paralyzed by a sane man before in my life.

"Me," Hannibal whispered, the words spoken so closely to my lips that I might have said them. "I was going to say, you will never have me."

Hannibal's closeness was gone, all too soon. He stood before me, washing his hands with another of the kit's wet wipes. It took a moment for me to regain my composure. Once I did, the arrogant insult of his words sank in.

"You think this is about _you_?" I asked. I hoped that I wasn't overplaying my incredulity. Feeling exposed, I tucked my bloodstained shirt in hastily and began buttoning it back up. "Of all the narcissistic, arrogant, delusional crap!"

Hannibal did not react, only stood there with his arms crossed.

"You've brought me the Chesapeake Ripper," I reminded him. It took immense effort and care, but I managed to stand to face him. I was done being physically vulnerable for the man in any way. "He sits in my cell as we speak. Tell me, _Dr_. Lecter, what else could I possibly want from you?"

Fantasies are funny things. The mind has a way of slowing them to a crawl, fabricating detail by detail a scene of perfect mental and physical stimulation. Reality is rarely so ideal. It comes hard and fast, leaving us grasping futilely at the remnants of memory to piece its best moments back together.

Our lips had been pressed together for several precious seconds before I realized that we were touching. Desire ran through me like an electric charge before then. My arms encircled Hannibal's neck, and my fingers tangibly sank into his soft hair. I ruffled its neatness, wanting more than anything to dishevel him in some way. My fingers met his ears, and I gripped them, holding his head closer to mine. His mouth was clean, and tasted of mints and winter. Idiotically poetic way to describe it, but I have no other words. It was the taste of coldest winter's snowfall.

I ran my tongue over his teeth, slick and thick. I felt them dig into my tongue lightly, and had the oddest thought that he might bite down and rip it straight out of my mouth. There was a trickle of fear in my chest at the notion, but it was dissipated by the heat of want. I wanted him so badly that it was almost an ache.

Then he was gone. The air still felt cool where he had stood. I had held to him fast, but he slipped out of my grip like water through a sieve. I was left in a void, blood throbbing uselessly through my body.

In response to the question I had nearly forgotten, Hannibal murmured, "What you will never have."

Hannibal had hung his jacket over the arm of my sofa. He picked it up now, slipped into it.

"Is that what you and Will had?" I asked, the sting of rejection blending with an ugly jealousy I could no longer stifle. "Your great friendship was really a love affair?"

Hannibal glanced at me, but paid me no regard. He was as remote as an island, as if the kiss had never happened. Without replying, he turned and headed for the door. I moved to go after him, but could not bring myself to. With that fluid swiftness of his, Hannibal opened the door, slipped out, and was gone. The soft thump of the door being closed sent a pulse of regret and fury through me.

Impotent. For the love of God, I actually felt impotent. Not physically (far from it, physically) but in every other way. With a kiss, Hannibal Lecter had stripped me of every last scrap of pride and control I had. When had I lost myself in him? I could not even point to the moment it had happened. All I knew was that somewhere along the way, he had mastered me.

What had I gotten from him? Absolutely nothing. A tease of a kiss, a taste of what I would never have. Damn him! He had cut into my mind and soul with scarcely a shred of effort, and I had not even scratched the surface of his mind!

I realized then that I may not have known Hannibal, but I had someone who did. Oh yes, I had in my possession a man that knew Hannibal Lecter as intimately as anyone possibly could.

I had Will Graham.

* * *

I kept Will ostracized from the rest of the hospital's population. He was far too rare a jewel to be thrown into a box with rubble. Rare and sharp-edged: his segregation was as much for the other inmates' protection as it was for his.

Not that he looked so much, naked and locked into a watery box. The secure bathing units consisted of separate showers whose doors were made of security glass and locked from the outside. Will Graham was alone in one of these wet cubicles one evening, when I dismissed the guards and orderlies.

Will Graham was tall, svelte, and he had the face of a young man still. There was a beauty to him, much softer and more innocent than Hannibal Lecter's harsh exoticness. It was surreal to think that this fair-skinned man with the trimness of a teenager and the face of a guileless angel Gabriel was capable of the horrors the Chesapeake Ripper had thrust upon the world.

Will must have sensed my presence. I saw his eyes open and his consciousness return from wherever it was by degrees. He did not look at me, but he spoke.

"Trying a new therapy tactic tonight, doctor?" he asked. "Does the shower have a drowning feature that I was unaware of?"

I was in no mood to play games with Will. After Hannibal's strange confrontation with me in my office, I had been forced back to bed rest by my delicate physical condition. Weeks had passed, weeks of going over the scene over and over again in a lonely bed. Now the stitches had been removed, and I was able to begin my plan to regain my control- of Will and of Hannibal.

"Were you fucking Hannibal?"

Will looked at me then, and I saw a trace of blush creep up his neck. He set his jaw, swallowing. He was an enigmatic man, but nowhere near as opaque as Hannibal. I could see his realization of his naked vulnerability, and the shameful ire the realization brought.

"Subtlety was never your strong suit, Dr. Chilton," he said. There was scorn in his voice when he said my title. "I believe it was that brand of blatant crudity that so irritated Abel Gideon, wasn't it?"

He was goading me, and it was not his best work. "Were you?"

"I don't see how it is any of your business."

The shower controls were at my fingertips. I turned the hot water faucet down until it would not turn further. The water ran freezing cold, and I was pleased to see Will inhale sharply. I gave him a moment, and then turned the water warm again.

"It's a simple question," I told him. "I'm nearly certain of the answer, anyway. Dr. Lecter implied as much."

"Dr. Lecter implies a lot of things."

He was being difficult, even so acutely aware of his helplessness. I turned the water cold again, leaving it longer this time. I saw Will's lovely slender body tremble from the cold. Was this what Hannibal saw in him, this juxtaposition of immature soul and mature body? Was it merely his beauty that Hannibal longed for? The youth he had never quite fully left behind?

I turned the water warm again, but Will was still shaking.

"N-not interested i-in the p-p-people I k-killed anymore?" he asked through chattering teeth. "My vuh-victims? What childhood t-trauma m-m-made me d-do it?"

"Not at the moment, no," I replied. "Answer my question."

"Go to hell."

I dialed the warm water back again and left it that way. Will blew out a breath, and I could hear his teeth chattering. The drops of icy water must have felt like small needles in his tender skin. I watched him closely, wondering how he would endure. There was such an unexpected power in water. No one ever suspected it until it was freezing the blood in their veins, or choking their very breath off.

Will banged his hands against the glass suddenly. I nearly started, but my mind remained rational. The glass could not break. I was still on the outside of the cage.

Will met my eyes, and then he withdrew. There was no other way to explain it: one moment his consciousness was there, pooling in his dark eyes, and the next it was gone. He closed his eyes then, dark lashes sweeping his eyelids down, and was very still. Even the shivering stopped. I turned the water as hot as it could go without scalding him, and then cold again. Nonetheless, Will remained stoic.

It became evident after several more alterations that Will would not be broken here. I called in the guards and orderlies again. There was a streak of steel in the tormented man, after all. I could see the hints of his sociopathic nature now, peeking through that facade of a wounded innocent.

"Why this obsession with Hannibal Lecter?"

The question picked at the gaping wound Hannibal had left me. I waited while Will was dressed and restrained.

"I'll escort him back," I said once Will was secured to the standing gurney he was transported in. The guards gave me a doubtful look, and I lifted my head. "_Go_."

They went- Of course they did, I was their boss.

"This has nothing to do with Hannibal Lecter," I informed my patient. "I'm trying to understand _you_."

"And knowing whether I had sex with Hannibal is conducive to that how?"

"It would help me to understand the magnitude of your obsession with him."

I thought that my cover was highly convincing. Yet Will Graham had an uncanny ability to look beneath the layers of ego, straight down to the core of a man. Worse still, he saw how the one created the other, all of the complicated motivations that drove the image we display for the world.

"You have to ask yourself why _you _are so obsessed with Hannibal, doctor," Will said. "You lock yourself away in this hospital where you can avoid them, but the fact remains that you have a fetish for dangerous people. These walls and bars and restraints are as much for your protection as they are for ours."

I fought to keep the alarm from my face, but it was difficult. "Why would you say that?"

"You forget that I can see monsters, Dr. Chilton," Will told me, as rational as any scientist explaining as simple a truth as Newton's Law. "And you are at least half a monster. But even with all the protections in place, it happened to you again, didn't it? Lines were crossed, and the matches you're so fond of playing with finally burned you."

My traitorous hand flew to my midsection. Will caught the gesture.

"You haven't learned, though, have you?" Will continued. "No, that isn't the right way to explain it. You can't _help _yourself. You've tried to distance yourself from the madness that you romanticize, but you feel empty without its strength, the chaos of a fractured mind. So you tell yourself that you'll be more careful the next time, and you start playing with fire all over again."

"I do, do I?" I muttered. "And is that- What is it you say? Is it my 'design'?"

Will chuckled, a wry and disturbing sound I had never heard from him before. "You're not creative enough to have a design, doctor. No, that is just the game you're addicted to playing. So ask yourself: where does Hannibal fit into that game?"

I pressed my lips together to restrain my expression. Will's words were disconcerting. It was as if he were speaking my own mind's doubts to me.

"If you're only attracted to dangerous people, then why are you so smitten with Hannibal?"

"Who says I am?"

"Why else would you come here to ask me whether I was sleeping with him?" Will asked. "What do you want to hear? What he likes? How he … _performs_? Whether you could ever be someone he would actually desire?"

I tried to keep myself from recollecting Hannibal's kiss. Something must have shown through, however, because Will smirked.

"The answer to that last question is, no," Will said. "Hannibal could never love someone like you. Do you know what Hannibal really thinks about you?"

"You're the expert on what goes on in Hannibal Lecter's mind now?"

"I told you, I see monsters," Will said softly. "And that particular monster thinks you're a fraud and a leech. Hannibal thinks that you are a rude, cowardly, self-important fool. A parasite, feeding off of the genius of others."

"Hannibal thinks all that, does he?" I asked dryly. "Are you sure you're not projecting? What does Will Graham think?"

"I don't think about you at all."

Incredible. I had to admit that his persistent high-handedness was something to be admired. I had shown him the totality of his helplessness, humiliated and violated him physically. Yet here he was, speaking to me as if I were a rodent.

"You should consider me," I told Will. I walked close to him, looking up at him up on his gurney. "I am your doctor. I only want to help you."

"Save it," Will said, more weary than angry. "Don't try to sell your savior of the world act to me. I know what you are."

"Your paranoia is getting the better of you."

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't out to freeze you to death in the shower."

Well, what could I really say to that? I left him, sending the guards to escort him back to his cell. I had gone to Will for resolution, yet I left more disturbed than ever. Since meeting Hannibal and Will, I had felt uncomfortable in my own skin. They made me feel … small. Insignificant. I had not felt so insecure since childhood, yet I kept finding myself at their mercy. I had expected Will's imprisonment here to give me some advantage, but he kept cutting me at the quick. What was I doing wrong? Why was I losing this battle?

Will was a brilliant profiler, but to be profiled like a common criminal …

_'And you are at least half a monster.'_

How could he see me so clearly? I was not only sane, but in complete control of myself. Given my tendencies, I had long since learned to keep a large portion of myself off the table. I _had _to. Will had overturned the table and dragged out every bit of dust and dirt hidden beneath. _How_? I had never killed anyone, left no evidence of my persona, given him nothing …

It was then that I realized what Will and Hannibal shared: the nigh-mythical ability to see straight into a man's being. I had studied the human mind endlessly, obsessively, and yet I lacked their natural talent for discerning the complexity of the human brain. The simplest things still baffled me: people loving completely unworthy mates, destruction without purpose, greed without satiation, ambition without goal. I theorized and judged, but I could never quite comprehend the actions. Whether they had lived through them or not, Will and Hannibal both could.

I should veer away from those two men. I knew it. The last time I had been 'burned' by a patient, as Will so eloquently put it, I had lost parts of my body. I would forever suffer for tempting the darkness. But Will was right, after all. I could not help myself. The challenge inflamed me. I had nearly died … I needed this purpose to find life again. The reality of my mortality was already fading away, as the injury healed, and all the evil seduction of life was as tempting as ever.

I did not envy Will Graham. He may have had Hannibal (or not) and he may have his brilliant insight, but he remained an animal in a cage. His mind was broken and inhuman. More than human or less than, it scarcely mattered. Hannibal and I shared something now: we were the ones outside. We were still functioning, still sane.

I alone walked between the worlds of madness and control. I held Will in one hand, and Hannibal in the other. They were _not _impenetrable, after all. Their link was a crack in both their minds, and I had found it. I had found their weak points, and they could never take that knowledge from me.

Clever, I was always clever. Knowledge is power, but only if one is bold enough and clever enough to use it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Hannibal invited me to dinner a week later. I was delighted for the invite, despite my mixed feelings about the man. The Crawfords were expected, but Hannibal told me upon arrival that they could not make it. I was not surprised. Jack Crawford's wife Bella was fatally ill with cancer. It was a shame for them, but I did relish the opportunity to have Hannibal to myself for the evening.

My forced vegetarianism needled at me whenever I ate Hannibal's cooking. He served cuisine celebrity chefs would be envious of, truly artisan meals, and was at his best when preparing fine meats. Hunger gnawed at me, and even his deliciously dressed salads could not sate it. Quite honestly, the kiss we had shared weeks ago had been my last taste of animal flesh.

"Damn Abel Gideon," I sighed, setting my fork down with a clatter. "No offense, but I miss your real cooking. Delicious as the salad was, it simply isn't the same."

Hannibal had humored me by sharing the vegetarian dish. "I am not offended. In fact, I tend to agree with you. Healthy as they are, greens seem to lack a vital nourishment, a primal blood lust inherent in any carnivore."

I puzzled over the unexpected brutality in Hannibal's words, but I agreed with him. We were finished with the meager meal, and he collected the plates. I admit to being in a rather self-pitying mood that night.

"I can't understand why a man would do something so vulgar to another," I said. "What would drive him to violate me so drastically?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hannibal said casually. He scooped up my plate and stacked it upon the others rested on his arm. "Did you ever, say, freeze him in a shower?"

Cold shock swept over me, and I was rendered speechless. I looked towards Hannibal, but his back was to me. He left the room with the dishes, the door swinging shut behind him.

He knew. Will must have told him, in some conversation I had not listened in on. My first instinct was to dash from the dining room and make a run for my car. Ludicrous! Whatever Hannibal's objections to my treatment of his supposed friend, he was a rational, sane man. There was no reason to flee from him as if he were some kind of animal.

Hannibal returned. I may have attempted some sort of explanation, but I could never remember what it was. All I recall is his hands laying upon my shoulders, pulling me to my feet. I must have fought against him, but my efforts were feeble as a child's. Hannibal was strong, more so than I ever imagined. I may as well have weighed ten pounds, for all the effect my fight had on him.

We went up the stairs to the second floor of the house. I had never been up here, but I barely saw any of it. It was dark, and Hannibal did not bother with lights. He elbowed open a door, and I was dragged into a bathroom. I had enough insight to see what he intended, though a part of me refused to believe it.

I was thrown into the shower with a thrust of force, and hit the tiled wall hard. I had just managed to turn around when the water hit me. It was ice cold, and shot through my clothing in seconds. My head prickled with needles of cold, and my lungs contracted in a gasp of shock.

I ran from the assault, but Hannibal blocked the way out of the shower. He caught me and shoved me back beneath the hammering cold. Was there amusement in his eyes? My hair ran into my eyes, and I wiped it back impatiently. The weight of my clothing was suppressing, but it held the cold slightly away from my skin. I felt the skin shrinking from my body, tight and clammy. Almost as cold as his eyes.

"Wha-wha-what are you d-doing?" I managed to ask through chattering teeth. I was shaking now, and pondered the unnatural control Will had maintained. "Yuh-yo-you can't do this!"

"Can't I?"

His hands were upon me, but I felt nothing but a numb chill. He was stripping off my clothing, exposing my skin to the relentless assault of cold water. I batted at him, but even in my state, I realized the futility of the struggle. The cold overcame me, and I was unable to move for a minute. Within this time, Hannibal removed my jacket, shirt, belt, and tie. I had already stepped out of the stiff coldness of soaked shoes. The fluid chill trickled down my bare chest, chilled my neck, and I shook violently.

Desperate, I flailed out wildly. My hands caught a grip on Hannibal's hair, and I pulled. The eroticism we had shared before was entirely absent. I yanked viciously, and found his eyes with my hands. All I could think was to gouge them, to get away somehow. I heard Hannibal grunt and the sound gave me hope.

Hannibal pushed off my hands, and unfastened my slacks. I was fighting him in earnest now. He took my arms by the wrists, turned me to face the shower wall, and pinned my arms to the small of my back. He hooked one arm around both my arms and held them there together. It should have been a tenuous hold, but I could not break it. My slacks fell in the struggle. Had I any blood flowing uninhibited, I might have blushed.

"You're a ha-ha-hypocrite!" I snapped at him. "Yuh-you would do a-a-anything to a-anyone but your pr-precious W-Wuh-Will Graham!"

Hannibal was drenched from the cold shower, but he seemed unaffected by it. "Will is my friend. I entrusted him to you, and you humiliated and mistreated him."

"He's my p-patient! You have no right to p-pry into wh-wuh-what I d-do to him!"

Hannibal snorted. He _was _amused, the bastard!

"You are feisty," he remarked. "Aren't you?"

I should have known better. I think that I _did _know better, but I was too aggravated to stop myself. I twisted and kicked back at his shin. Breaking his hold just slightly, I grabbed for whatever object I could find. There was a large wooden bath brush hung just outside the shower. I took a hold on it, and swung it at Hannibal. He blocked the blow with his arm, but there was a loud crack of wood hitting bone. The fury that lit his eyes gave me pause, and I faltered. It was the only hesitation that he needed.

Hannibal pulled the brush from my hand, taking a grip on its handle himself. I thought he might brain me with it right there, but his eyes cooled to their usual dispassion. He turned the water off, not taking his eyes off of me. I flattened my back against the shower wall.

"You've made your point," I said, though my voice was shaky. With as much dignity as I could muster, soaked and half naked, I tried to reason with the man. "It was wrong to do that to Will. I get it. Now, I'm going to get dressed and leave. We'll talk when you're in a more … sane mood."

I tried to walk past him, but his hand closed on my wrist like an iron vice. It took great effort, but I managed to look up at him. The amusement was back on his face, but the residue of rage glinted in his eyes. My heart sank into my stomach, which was currently impersonating butterflies.

"Let me go," I demanded. "Will is still my patient. I could always decide that your visits aren't conducive to his recovery. I could always keep him out of your reach."

"Are you threatening me, Frederick?" Hannibal asked, sounding bored. He seemed to be considering what to do next. "Do you feel powerful, having Will?"

"I feel in control," I said spitefully. "However much better than me you and Will Graham think you are, the fact remains that you both _need _me. I'm the only thing keeping you two together. I _am _in control."

Hannibal smiled. "Oh are you?"

"Yes."

"I admit that you are necessary right now," Hannibal said. Why did he sound so regretful? Even if I wasn't necessary, it wasn't as if he could do away with me. His hand tightened on my wrist, cutting the circulation off. "But you are no more in control than a doe in the scope of a hunter, Frederick."

"Just try me," I seethed. "_Try _to hurt me, I dare you. You'll see how fast I ban you from Will's life."

"This is a rude, childish game you are playing, Frederick," Hannibal told me. The bath brush hung from a loop of cord on his wrist, freeing his hand to suddenly touch the side of my mouth, as he had before kissing me. "Your eyes are quite blue."

Thrown by the change of subject matter and his touch, my guards went down. In a swift motion, Hannibal swung me around to face the wall, twisting my arm painfully behind my back. This time, there was nothing to reach for, no way of fighting his hold. To my complete dismay, Hannibal finished undressing me, pulling down my boxers. I cringed, expecting the freezing water to hit my skin again.

Something hit me then, and it was not water. There was a ringing crack, and my buttocks were suddenly stung with pain. I was so stunned that it took my until the fourth blow to realize that Hannibal was spanking me with the broad, flat side of the bath brush.

Was discipline not a way of ordering chaos? I asked him this later. Hannibal only smiled at me then, and told me that I was not chaos. I was a minor annoyance, he would say, to be swatted down with as little consequence as smacking a fly.

'Smacking' was an understatement. Hannibal swung the broad, flat side of the bath brush with every ounce of strength he possessed. I was raised being disciplined enough, my father was a strong believer in corporal punishment, but even the most stringent modern parent outside of the abuser refrains from actually beating their children. I had had times in my life where I had been assaulted, but it had been a very long time since anyone had taken me over in this way.

To fight another man is one thing. There is equal opportunity, and though being the lesser opponent stings, it is refreshing to lose a fight knowing one has done his best in the struggle. After reaching a certain age, most people see no violence in their future, considering their station and career. Those that do chase violence seek a level battlefield, or resort to the neatness of gun play. Being taken in hand is a child's fate, not a man's. The mere idea strikes us as a silly erotic fantasy far beyond the possibilities of real life, barring a consensual sex act.

This was neither erotic nor silly. It hurt. It hurt more than I ever would have imagined. Once the shock wore off, I could feel the burn of every whack distinctly. My skin was still tingling from the impromptu cold shower, and the sting began to throb viciously. I was shouting furiously at Hannibal, threatening him, insulting him. He said nothing, which made the entire thing all the worse, only kept the pace of the beating in a steady, unflagging rhythm.

Pleas wavered on my lips, and that was when I choked myself into silence. Angry tears had long since been falling, rolling down my burning face, hot and heavy. It was intolerably painful, but I refused to beg for mercy. I was still a man, somewhere deep down, and I would not beg. I knew it would do nothing but delight Hannibal, anyway.

I had intended to strike back at him, but by the time he released me, I was unable to do anything but stand there. I brought my arm, sore from being held back for so long, around my face, sobbing stupidly into the tiled shower wall. The angry shame still burned, but my buttocks were burning more hotly, and I felt only a deep, dark misery. I could not even turn around to look at the man.

I felt Hannibal's hand squeeze one hot, stinging cheek, and then the other. His cool hands were a comfort, but the gesture was as dispassionate as one examining a slab of meat at the butcher's. I turned to look over my shoulder at him, but he was outside the shower by now. He stooped to pick up my wet clothing.

"I'll put these in the dryer," he said, and was gone.

I could not stifle a laugh, hysterical as it was. Put my clothing in the dryer- God! He sounded as casual as if the entire incident had been nothing more than a mishap at dinner: wine spilled on a shirt, or something equally minor. I laughed until I was crying again. I wanted to collapse, but I didn't dare sit on the hard shower floor.

I took up one of the lush Egyptian cotton towels and wrapped it around myself. It was large, and covered me appropriately. I wiped my face on a corner of it, trying to collect myself. Even the soft fabric irritated my backside, beaten sensitive to every shift of muscle and contact. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and looked away. All I saw was a small, thin man, pathetically sullen.

Morbid curiosity made me lift the towel enough to view my backside. Deep, angry purple circles spread into round-edged red imprints, covering each cheek fully. I gingerly touched the darkening bruises, and the spark of pain made me wince.

Hannibal had returned at some point, and was watching me. He had a smirk playing upon his lips, his hair wet from the water he had reached into and crossing his smooth forehead. He looked more handsome than ever, and I cursed myself for noticing.

"I'll go to Jack Crawford," I threatened, though it sounded weak even to my ears. "I'll tell him what you did to me."

"No, you won't," Hannibal said knowingly. "We keep each other's secrets, remember?"

I had once been happy to have a connection of such significance with Hannibal. Now my own words sounded childishly naïve. I could know every last corner of Hannibal's mind, and we would be no more connected than the ground is to the sky.

It was then that I finally accepted defeat. I would never demean myself to going to anyone, let alone the stalwart Agent Crawford, and showing the evidence of Hannibal's abuse like some red-assed baboon. Nor could I even attempt to hurt Hannibal back. The will to fight him was beyond me at the moment, and I knew it would not be a match I could win. All I could do was stand there glaring at him as if I were a chastened little boy.

I had to do _something_. It had been many years since I had been so out of control, and I was desperate to regain some power. In a nearly mad turmoil, I rushed to Hannibal, and reached up to take his head by the ears. I brought his face to mine, and kissed him.

For one delicious moment, I had the illusion that I was taking something from him. He was not surprised, and made no move to stop me. The towel fell away, but I didn't notice. All I could feel was his closeness, the hard lines of his body beneath his clothes, the light clamp of his teeth over my tongue.

The delusion of control ended abruptly. Hannibal took me by the shoulders, slammed me into the wall (my backside hitting it painfully), and gave me a devouring kiss. He drank in my misery, my attempt at regaining control, everything, all of me, and his teeth grazed my lips. His mouth moved down to my neck, and he bit me so hard that I thought he would tear out my jugular with his bare teeth. Simultaneous waves of repulsion and need drove me into the blindness of ecstasy.

Hannibal threw me to the floor, all traces of lust gone from him. My face was burning and I was aching with need. He only looked down at me coldly. Panting, I gathered the towel back up around me.

Then, half mad with pain and pleasure, I did beg. "Please-" I looked up at him, and I could feel the supplication written on my face. "Please, _please_."

"I told you," Hannibal said icily. "You will never have me."

He turned and walked out, as I crumbled into raw, hideous sobs.

* * *

I don't know how long I lay curled into myself on the floor. It felt like I had cried the entire night away. Emotionally fatigued, I must have lost consciousness at one point. At another point, Hannibal must have found some semblance of humanity, because he carried me out of the bathroom. I have a dim memory of strong arms wrapping around my towel-shrouded body, carrying me down a hall. Or that may have been nothing more than a dream or a wish.

In any case, I woke up in the guest bedroom. The sheets were warm and soft against my bare skin, smelling of lavender. I told myself that I had had a nightmare. I was home. I was safe.

"Wake up, Frederick. Breakfast will be served soon."

The commanding accented voice startled me into reality. My body had flipped its inner switch from sleep to wakefulness, and the bruises on my bottom sung with pain. I burrowed into the luxurious pillow and comforter, trying to vanish back into the security of sleep. Not having it, Hannibal pulled off my coverings. I glared up at him, but he only gave me a pleasant, damnably dashing smile.

"Don't sulk, Frederick," he said, giving my exposed backside a slap. "You have to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes you are." Hannibal took me by the shoulders and sat me up. "Come. You'll need your strength today."

"My strength escapes me," I said miserably, squirming. "Funny how being spanked like a child can do that."

"You acted like a child by trying to fight your way out of punishment," Hannibal said in the reasonable tone of a parent of a challenged child. He pulled me out of bed and was helping (or forcing) me into a black silk robe. "I only gave you what you had fully earned. Your clothing are in the bathroom."

I did not have the will to argue with him. I dully made my way to the adjacent guest bathroom, and went about my morning routine. My bottom was lit with dark, angry shades of red and purple. Earned or not, the result was humiliatingly succinct. I dressed in a hurry, hoping being dressed decently again would make me feel a little less ludicrous. It did not.

Hannibal had been waiting outside the guest bedroom. He smiled and led me back downstairs, to the kitchen. Breakfast was cooking, and it smelled heavenly. Circumstances aside, it is rather convenient to wake up in the home of a professional chef.

"No," I said, putting a hand tentatively on his arm when he moved to bring the plates to the dining room. "I … I think I'll eat here at the counter."

Hannibal actually laughed at that, a sharp, single mocking note. "Don't feel quite up to sitting down for a meal yet, Frederick?"

I blushed furiously, but could not deny it. I shook my head, grimacing. He set my plate down on the kitchen island, and fetched himself a stool to sit beside me. I ate, gingerly before my appetite took hold. Hannibal watched me, as he always watched his diners.

"What did you mean by saying I would need my strength today, anyway?"

"I know how difficult it is for you to admit to your mistakes," Hannibal said. "Almost as difficult as taking your punishment. I imagine you'll want to be fortified before you apologize to Will Graham."

"Before I-" I stared at him in disbelief, lowering my fork. "Why in the world would I do that?"

"Because you were rude to him," Hannibal said simply. He met my eyes. "Because I want you to."

"What am I now? Your bitch?" I asked, bristled. "What if I refuse? You'll paddle me again?"

"I might use my belt instead," Hannibal said, chewing thoughtfully.

I dropped my fork. It clattered jarringly on the fine china plate. Hannibal gave me a mildly reproving look.

"You can't be serious," I said, though I thought he was. "You can't simply beat me whenever you disagree with me. For God's sake, I'm a grown man!"

"You don't want me to deal with you man to man, Frederick," Hannibal said. There was an edge in his voice, beneath the superficial calm, that chilled me. "And while Will is in your care, I cannot afford to. But I won't allow you to wield my connection to Will like a weapon against me. This solution may be _unorthodox_, but it seems to work."

"I'll go to Jack Crawford," I said, more strongly than I had last night. "It will be embarrassing, but it will give him doubts. You know it will."

"Do that," Hannibal replied smoothly. "I'm sure Jack will find what _you _have done with Abel Gideon and now Will very interesting, also."

I scowled. What I had done to Will in the shower alone could cost me my career, let alone my experimentations with Gideon.

"When two people are in equal situations, the contest comes down to the baseness of nature," Hannibal said simply. "Survival of the fittest. There is still animal nature left inside all of us, I think. It is that animal instinct within you that caused you to submit to me last night."

"I didn't submit to anything!" I snapped. "You overpowered me."

"You submitted to me the moment you kissed me," Hannibal pointed out. "When you were on the floor begging me to have you."

After that, I not only could not argue, I could not even look at the man.

"Don't sulk, Frederick," Hannibal scolded. "It isn't attractive in a man your age."

* * *

Less than an hour later, I was outside of Will Graham's cell. He stood and came to the bars, looking me up and down. I saw satisfaction in his eyes.

"Good morning, Dr. Chilton," he greeted me. "Rough night?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"You haven't walked so stiffly since the stitches came out," Will said, making me regret the question. "You're obviously down here this early against your will, you're looking at me as if I were a burden rather than a prize, and something is weighing on your mind."

"All that from a glance, hm?" I muttered, more dour than I intended. I was sick of Will Graham and his bright, knowing eyes.

"What did Hannibal Lecter do to you, Dr. Chilton?"

I looked at him, letting the fury seep through finally. "And why would Dr. Lecter do anything to me, Will? Who could have possibly said anything to get him angry at me?"

"I did tell Hannibal what you did to me in the shower," Will said. "It wasn't my intention to have him hurt you."

"Than what was your intention?" I asked. "You wanted his sympathy? His attention?"

"No!" Will exclaimed, as frustrated as I was. "Don't you see? I wanted _yours_!"

It was the last thing I had expected to hear from him. "What?"

"I wanted you to see Hannibal for who he really is," Will told me. "I can see that you haven't glimpsed the real … _thing _inside Hannibal Lecter; you wouldn't be in one piece if you had. Still, he did something, didn't he? Something to protect me?"

"He did."

"Did he hurt you?"

I considered for a long moment. On the one hand, it was insufferable to be treated like a patient by one of my own patients. On the other, Will had planned the entire incident. I was still a bit raw from the previous night, and I wanted Will's insight. Curiosity swayed me, in the end.

"Yes."

Will paced, thinking, looking me over again. "He punished you," he surmised. "Your face is unmarked, so it was not any kind of fight between equals. No, it wouldn't be. Hannibal doesn't see you as anything near an equal. He wouldn't batter you, either, not in a way that you could bring to the authorities. You're a whiner. You bilked Abel Gideon's attack for all it was worth, with the authorities, with the press- I'd be surprised if you weren't writing a book."

Actually, I was.

"But you were rude to a man I tell myself I care deeply about," Will went on, taking on Hannibal's point of view and his severe manner of speaking. His hand flexed. "I cannot abide you taking control over my friend. I cannot abide you controlling the man I have dedicated so much time to shaping. I need to put you in your place, without arousing your suspicions."

Will broke out of character and turned to me. "How much do you know about Dr. Lecter?"

"I … know that he can be unorthodox in his methods. So can I."

"Unorthodox," Will sneered. "It's a mild word for cruelty, isn't it? Tell me, Dr. Chilton, how 'unorthodox' was Hannibal with you?"

"You're the one that's been figuring it out," I said. "Don't let me stop you."

"Fair enough." Will circled the cell again, stopped in front of me. He looked me up and down, his manner so like Lecter's that it chilled me. "Hannibal sees you-" He shut his eyes, opened them again. "-as the playground bully. You use your status to intimidate and demean without actually proving your worth. I-Hannibal-would want to eradicate your pride, bring you to your knees. He has real strength, and he would want to give you a small taste of its capabilities. He could not resist humiliating you, playing with you like a cat with a mouse."

Will's fist flattened, palm out.

"You pride yourself on being a man in control of chaos, and I am chaos," Will said, speaking as Hannibal again. I wondered if he even realized what he was doing. "I take you by surprise, throw you off your guard, and then I proceed to punish you in a way you never expected to be subjected to. Since I'm limited to only hurting you mildly, I want to maximize your humility. You're nothing but a boastful child, so I treat you as such."

Will's personality broke through, and he smiled in amusement. "He spanked you."

"How could you possibly know-" I cut myself off, clearing my throat. For the first time, I actually considered leaving the hospital, and Baltimore, altogether. "Fine. All right. Yes. Yes, he did."

"But that wouldn't be enough," Will said. "He would want to dominate you as much as possible without killing you. He taunted you in some other way. He would never deign to have sex with the likes of you … but he made you think it was possible. Didn't he?"

"The way he did with you?" I asked, testing him. "Or did you get more than a taste?"

Will did not take the bait. "You are … consumed by him."

"I don't love him. I don't even like him." I paused. "I'd kill to be with him again."

"Your fetish."

"Yes," I sighed. I had quite forgotten that I was talking to the Chesapeake Ripper, and was comfortable speaking to the man. Even unsympathetic understanding could be a comfort. "You told me that I locked myself away in here so that I could have control over the dangerous people I'm constantly attracted to. It's true. I've always had a knack for manipulating people. Soon, they began to bore me. So, I kept testing the limits of my ability, trying it on stronger and stronger minds. Some people are impenetrable, but some have just enough flaws in their minds to pick away at their control."

"Hannibal Lecter is not one of those people."

"Most likely not," I agreed. I paced, finally sitting back on my ankles on the floor, across from Will's cell. "Before I became administrator of this hospital, I had a lover. A man. He was handsome, charming, polite, well-spoken. He was perfect, except for his eyes. There was something else in his eyes. They were dark, almost black, but it wasn't the color; there was a darkness deeper than any color can capture in them, something … _other_. I didn't see it at the time, I only realized the nature of that depth later. After … "

Will seemed interested. He sat on the floor of his cell, watching me.

"He had quirks, fetishes, but I always thought he simply liked to play rough," I went on. I could see his face in memory, those dark good looks, the thick, smooth black hair. I could almost feel those long, slender arms, all sinewy muscle, around me. "I don't love Hannibal, but I loved that man. I loved him, but something was broken inside of him. Something made him incapable of love or compassion. I never found out what it was. He became increasingly jealous, to the point of paranoia. He went completely blind with rage when I flirted with a woman. He called her a whore, said all kinds of things about killing her, about … cutting her to pieces. Dirty, he kept saying, dirty, she was dirty, I was dirty. I managed to get him out of the hospital- that's where we were, he worked there- but in the car, he … he beat me. It was late at night, the parking garage was empty. He used his … belt. My entire back was almost split open with welts, from my shoulders to my thighs, but I thought that was the end of it."

Will was quiet, thinking. I was nearly certain that he was mentally profiling my abusive lover. I wondered what he would make of the profile.

"He drove me far, far out, to the lake," I said. The words caught in my throat. Even after all this time, my skin misted with fear sweat, and my heart went racing. "He tied me up, naked, and he walked me through the snow. He … said it would make me clean. He said that, and threw me into the middle of the lake, where the ice was thinnest."

Will snorted. "You would think that experience would make you empathic enough not to freeze people in showers."

I looked at him, but decided to ignore the comment.

"Anyway, I would have died, if ice fishers hadn't seen the whole thing," I concluded, standing. "They called out and ran over. My lover ran, and I never saw him again. They pulled me out. I remember the burning. My skin was burning from cold and the welts on my back. I wanted to be dead. But I survived. I was in the hospital for a month, but I survived."

"A month?"

"They had to put me on suicide watch, but it was a misunderstanding," I said, stressing the latter. Suicide is not a weakness I am prone to, nor has it ever been. "I had gotten the job offer to be administrator here before that incident. Once I recovered, I accepted. I promised myself that no one would ever make me feel that way again."

Will raised his eyebrows, getting to his feet. "And how is that going, Dr. Chilton?"

"Somewhat worse than I expected," I said dryly. "I've had women hate me. Some have threatened to kill me. One might have tried. But men are savage, aren't they? My lover, Gideon, Hannibal … _you_."

"Hannibal hasn't savaged you yet, Doctor," Will said. "Not yet."

"He hurt me," I admitted. My voice sounded ludicrously soft with pain, and I cleared my throat. "He still is. He's watching, you know." I glanced at the camera. "And listening, I'm sure."

Will's mouth twitched in a quick smile. "He sent you to apologize to me, didn't he?"

Nostalgia and misery evaporated in a fresh blaze of anger. "In my own hospital!" I exclaimed, more to myself than Will. "To a monster like you!"

"You shouldn't grind your teeth like that," Will advised. "You'll crack a molar."

I would have gleefully cracked all of his and Hannibal's molars, had I the chance. I was painfully aware of Hannibal's eyes and ears on me, however. The idea of him up in my own office, using my own surveillance system against me was nearly as humiliating as his 'punishment' had been.

"I wish you were right about Hannibal!" I fumed, pacing. "I would love nothing better than to have a reason to lock him up here, to have him at my mercy."

"But you don't."

I stopped walking, facing Will. "No," I sighed. "I don't. And I really don't have a choice, do I?"

Will waited expectantly. His smugness set my nerves on edge, but once again, I was impotent.

"I'm sorry," I forced the words from my tongue. My cheeks flushed instantly, and my grip on the cane was so tight that I half expected it to break to dust in my palm. "I was rude and inconsiderate. I was cruel to you, and I apologize for it."

Suddenly, Will's hand shot between the bars. I had paced too close to his cell. He grabbed me by the jacket, pulled me against the bars. We were so close that I could smell the remnants of sleep sweat on his body.

"No-no-no-no!"

"Shhh, Doctor," Will said gently. His other arm reached out of the cell and took a firm hold on my shoulder. "I wanted to say that I forgive you."

"You could have just said it!" I said, struggling. I had been violated enough for a lifetime, and the idea of being this close to the Chesapeake Ripper sent a stab of panic through me. "Let go of me!"

"Help me remember what Hannibal did to me," Will whispered urgently into my ear. "You want a reason to lock him up here? Help me remember, and you might get it. Isn't it worth the chance?"

I cringed my ear back from his mouth. He had eaten the Hobbs girl's ears, after all; mine wouldn't be the first. Will released me then, though. I stumbled back ungracefully.

"I don't like you, Dr. Chilton," Will said. "I never have. I never will. But even you deserve fair warning, so here it is: this won't end well for you. You have an infinitesimal idea of how dangerous it is to place yourself between Hannibal and I now. Keep on doing that, and you'll wish you had drowned in the lake that night."

"I told myself that I was done being afraid after that," I shot back at him. "I made this hospital what it is so that no one has to _be _afraid of animals like he was, like you are! I misstepped and Hannibal used it against me, so be it! It's done! But I will not quit to go cower in a corner somewhere! I won't do it!"

"Then remember what I told you to do," Will said calmly, sitting on his cot. "And watch your back."

I must have expressed something, because Will smirked.

"Too soon?" he inquired.

It was all the indignity I could take. I left him there, intent on getting Hannibal out of my office. When I arrived there, I found Lecter smiling. Not for the first time, I wished I had the freedom of insanity as an excuse for violence. All we sane people can really do is make small gestures, which I did, by slamming the door behind me.

"That was very good, Frederick," Hannibal said. "Even though you did put it off for about as long as you possibly could."

My fury had subsided into a state that can only be described as 'sulking'. I was depressed, tired, and in pain. "Get out." Upon seeing the look he gave me, I added, "Please. Just go."

"As you wish," Hannibal said, rather sardonically. "Do take care of Will for me."

Exhausted, I collapsed onto the sofa, forgetting my battered backside. I flinched, and caught one last satisfied smirk on Hannibal's face before he left. Once he was gone, I resignedly lay on my stomach over the sofa.

I decided then that I would help Will Graham find his missing memories. I would do everything in my power to catch Hannibal at something he could not deny. I did not know whether he was guilty of anything serious enough to end him up in my hospital, but I had hope. There was no way that someone so callously disrespectful was entirely innocent. He was a narcissist, entirely without boundaries. As much as I had once somewhat admired those qualities, I now wondered if they were signs of a more significant pattern.

What _was _Hannibal Lecter capable of? I had just scratched the surface, I thought, and I intended to dig deeper. I had to admit that the idea of Lecter being actually dangerous was scintillating. If Hannibal had fissures in his sanity, I may be able to finally get a hold on him- personally and professionally. He may not be so out of the reach of mere mortals such as myself for very much longer. I might just see a day that I owned Hannibal Lecter after all, here in one of my cages.

Some animals will never be tamed. They will never be truly understood. Yet they can be set to study and display, like a stone in a jeweler's setting. If Hannibal were such a beast, then I would be the one to capture him. Then we would see who was forced to submit.

**End**


	3. Post-Story Author's Notes

**Author's Notes - PLEASE READ AFTER FINISHING STORY, CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE SHOW AS WELL**

Not to beat a dead administrator- I mean, horse- but I had been planning this story since Will's incarceration at the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane. I put it on hold after they killed Chilton, but then figured, why not? So, I finished it, it's a very short story, and here it is. I always did want to see Hannibal take Chilton to task. I am aware Hannibal either kills (books) or gets him killed (show) but hey, a little fan service first. This isn't meant to be taken seriously in any way. I also wanted to do Chilton's POV, it's always fun to write in the first person for arrogant characters, probably because they're so far from my own personality. I considered going all the way with the slash, but I cannot see Hannibal sleeping with Chilton for any reason, in any situation. For me, those two "kisses of torment" were just the right touches for this story. They kind of fit into Chilton's darkly comic tragic life, always being so close and yet never succeeding at anything but getting himself into trouble.

Funny thing to note is that I had written the line about Chilton not being creative enough to have a design before his death episode, where Will basically tells him he doesn't have murder in him (not as a compliment, given Will's tone and expression). I understand Chilton in the sense that he, like so many of us horror fans, does have a perverse fascination with monsters. The thing is, most people are reasonable enough to leave those fantasies to their minds. Chilton ... didn't. I think he gravely mistook his position in the world for being more powerful and definitely darker than it was. So, I have some sympathy for him, even though he is spitefully cruel. In the books, I think he had the same spark of attraction to powerful people, wanting to claim them: his attraction to Clarice I've attributed to him somehow sensing her strong spirit, and maybe even subconsciously the danger in her. Naturally, none of the people he so jealously admires would give him the time of day, and so the cycle goes on (until it doesn't).

As for Hannibal, he hates Chilton. They had their whole "we keep each other's secrets" balance of power going on, but I did wonder what would have happened if Chilton had tipped the balance in his own favor by using his possession of Will against Hannibal. Had he gone too far, I have no doubt that Hannibal would have simply killed him earlier than he did, but here I had Hannibal deal with the minor annoyance of Chilton in a simpler way. Chilton is weak, and Hannibal at the time decided it would be easier to tame him than to get rid of him and leave Will in the hands of a possibly stronger administrator. Basically, Frederick was still a pawn in play, and Hannibal brought him under his control by making him slightly aware of his precarious position. Not that Chilton quite realized yet how much of a pawn he was, that would come later.

One last note: I did hint at a Dexter crossover with the story Chilton tells Will at the end. His unnamed lover that nearly drowned him in the half-frozen lake was written with Rudy Cooper AKA Brian Moser AKA "The Ice Truck Killer" in mind. Why? I have no idea, it simply felt right. I always did want to cross ITK into the Hannibal series, as a prequel. I could see him crossing paths with both Hannibal and Chilton, on separate occasions. A much younger Brian Moser, without the finely honed skills of an established serial killer, more out of control and struggling with his demons. Will I do it? Maybe, maybe not, I'm not writing so much these days. It is an interesting though, to me anyway. I loved ITK in the first season of Dexter, perfect performance and one of the series' best plots. Both Hannibal and Dexter are so dark, so focused on the mental workings of serial killers, it's perfect for crossover. So there's a plot bunny for you ;)


End file.
